


Your House

by 3cheers12years



Category: Game Grumps
Genre: F/M, Gender-Neutral Pronouns, Intended female reader, Not Beta Read, POV Second Person, Song fic, Stalker, Symbolism, This is kinda messed up, Worship, but - Freeform, im sorry
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-06-07
Updated: 2017-06-07
Packaged: 2018-11-10 14:38:53
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,046
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11128899
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/3cheers12years/pseuds/3cheers12years
Summary: "New Jersey was a cold, damp place, so he liked to keep His home, His apartment somewhere warm and cosy. Comforting. So much like His presence."





	Your House

You bend down, wobbling slightly as you sit on your haunches. You lift the doormat, even heavier under your cold fingers than usual. The small brass key hidden under it is colder, though.

You drop the mat, the slap of the rubber against the concrete floor echoing through the hallway. It makes you flinch and glance around before quickly shoving the key into the lock, jiggling it just right before turning it. You enter the apartment silently, closing the door softly behind you, just as He does, locking it once again and placing the key in the pocket of your jacket.

You sigh, letting your hands drop to your sides, shoulders relaxing with your exhale. You toe your shoes off and leave them neatly beside His own, shrugging your jacket off of your shoulders and hanging it over the back of one of the dining chairs. You rub your hands together to warm them up as you drift your way through Dan's apartment.

It was always warm in here. New Jersey was a cold, damp place, so he liked to keep His home, His apartment somewhere warm and cosy. Comforting. So much like His presence.

You take a banana from the kitchen counter, peeling it upside down, just like He had taught you. _"You don't get as many of the stringy bits"_ Dan told you. And He was right, just as He was about so many things. You toss the skin and the seed carelessly into the bin, wandering your way to His room as you ate.

You fancied a shower but you needed a towel. Not just any towel, though, His towel. The other towels aren't the same. They aren't as soft, aren't as warm. They don't make you feel close to Him. 

So you take Dan's towel from the radiator in His bedroom, glancing around the familiar walls. He has a new photo up of His parents and it makes you smile. They were so kind. They looked so happy.

You make a start out of His bedroom, but your feet stop you at the end of His bed. You drop the towel, it landing with a quiet _thud_ on the carpet. You take His pyjama bottoms into your hands, screwing them up into a ball before burying your nose into the soft fabric. It smells like Him, so strongly of Him, the musk of sleep entwined in the fabric along with His warmth and sandalwood.

You find yourself crawling onto His bed, hugging His silk pillow close to your body and close your eyes. You can see yourself holding Him, nuzzling into the crook of His neck, a smile pulling at your lips. He pulls you closer and you tell Him how you feel. 

"I love you, Danny," 

And He hums a response, voice full of gravel as He tells you that He loves, no, _adores_ you. Butterflies flutter in your gut.

You drag yourself from His bed, putting the pillow back into place, fluffing it perfectly, fit for your King. You head to the bathroom, His towel in hand. You flick the light on and the fan drags itself into its motion, droning and blending into white noise.

You hang His towel up on the radiator before turning the shower on. It was still on His setting, hot enough to turn His skin a blush pink, but not hot enough to burn. You turn it down a few notches.

You leave the bathroom door open, slipping yourself out of your jeans and t-shirt. Part of you considers stealing one of His t-shirts before you leave. A souvenir of sorts, but you're sure that's pushing your luck. That it's too far, that He'd finally realise your antics and wouldn't love you.

You hum as you step into the shower, warm water soothing your muscles. You waste no time in using His shampoo to wash your hair, closing your eyes and wishing for His gentle, lithe fingers to massage your scalp and run through your locks. You wish you could do the same to Him, brush His beautiful curls back from His face and feel your King relax under your fingers. He doesn't use conditioner.

Dan's smell fills the shower as you wash with His shower gel and rinse your hair. Your humming had turned to singing and your singing to dancing as you turned off the water and stepped out of the cubical. His towel is almost as soft and warm as He is when you wrap it around yourself and dry your skin.

You peer around the doorframe to check His clock. He'd be home soon and it makes your heart sink in your chest. You know you shouldn't be here, in your King's palace, without permission. You know that He would be upset, He would worry and the last thing you want to do is hurt Him.

You dress yourself and half dry your hair. You hang His soft, warm, snuggly towel on the radiator. You decide to take one more wander around Dan's apartment before you leave. 

You find yourself looking through a notepad on the coffee table, smiling to yourself as you flick through lyrics, doodles and shopping lists. And then you see it. 

There's writing that isn't His. It isn't Dan's usual scrawl, it's clean and clear and the I's are dotted with circles not jabs of the pen to the paper like He does.

_I'm sorry baby, I had to leave for work. I tried waking you, but you were out for the count. I'll be in touch later. I love you._

Your heart shatters. You close the notebook slowly, placing it back on the coffee table. You can't help the tears that are running down your cheeks or the way that your breath becomes shallow and your throat tight. It's time to leave.

Your coat gets shrugged on and you shove your feet into your shoes. You hold your sobs in your mouth as you unlock the door, back yourself out of it and lock it once again. The small brass key returns to its rightful place under the welcome mat.

You realise that you are nothing to Him. You realise, as you leave the building, that to your King, you are nothing but the jester.

**Author's Note:**

> Inspired mostly by Your House - Alanis Morrisette and partially by Koopie Koo's email in TTYD. I was reminded of my love for Alanis' acapella version and then that email happened and goddamnit this mess did.
> 
> Im currently on mobile so links and disclaimers wont be here for a while.
> 
> For anyone who is interested, ignitions alternate version will be uploaded once my laptop is up and running. But for now, enjoy this guff.


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